Another mysterious incident happened when a
gathering of devas visited Ãcariya Mun. Their leader
began a conversation with him, stating:

“Your stay here has caused much delight in all the
devas. We all enjoy an extraordinary sense of
happiness due to your all-embracing aura of
compassionate love that permeates through the
heavens and spreads across the earth. This aura that
radiates from you is indescribable and wonderful
beyond compare. Because of it, we always know where
you are. This aura of Dhamma emanates from you and
streams out in all directions. When you are teaching
Dhamma to the monks, novices and lay people, even
the sound of your voice resonates unbounded through
the higher and lower realms. Wherever devas live
they hear your voice– only the dead are deaf to it.”

I would like to write a bit more about this
conversation between Ãcariya Mun and the deva.
Although I cannot vouch for its accuracy, I heard it
from a reliable source. Ãcariya Mun took up the
conversation with this question: “If my voice really
resonates as you say, why don’t human beings hear it
as well?”

The leader of the devas replied: “What would humans
know about moral virtue? They couldn’t care less.
They use their six senses to make evil kamma and
create the conditions for hell within themselves all
the time. They do this from the day they are born
until the day they die. They are not nearly as
concerned about moral issues as they ought to be,
given their status as human beings. There are very
few indeed who are interested in using their senses
in any morally beneficial way. The amount of moral
virtue in their lives is really quite limited. By
way of comparison: in the time that it takes one
human being to die and be reborn, repeatedly ten or
even one hundred times, the average deva has yet to
pass away even once—not to mention the brahma devas
who have exceptionally long lives. The population of
humankind is vast, and this in turn means a vast
amount of negligence, for those who are heedful are
few and far between. Mankind is supposed to
safeguard the sãsana, and yet people themselves know
precious little about the sãsana or moral
excellence.

“Bad people know only evil. Their sole claim to
being human comes from the fact that they are
breathing. As soon as their breathing stops, they
are immediately buried under the weight of their own
wickedness. The devas know about this. Why shouldn’t
they? It’s no secret. When a person dies, monks are
invited to chant auspicious verses of Dhamma for the
deceased. Why would an evil person listen then? From
the initial moment of death, his consciousness is
completely bound up by his evil kamma. So what
chance would he have to come and listen to Dhamma?
Even while alive he wasn’t interested. Only the
living can hear Dhamma – if they have the interest
and desire. But it’s obvious that they’re not really
interested. Haven’t you noticed them? When have they
ever shown an interest when the monks chant Dhamma
verses? Because they show no interest, it’s obvious
that the sãsana is not truly embedded in their
hearts. The things that they’re most infatuated with
are sordid and disliked even by some animals. These
are just the kinds of things that immoral people
have always enjoyed more than anything else; and
they never ever grow tired of them. Even when they
are near death they still hanker after such things.
We devas know much more about humans than humans
know about devas. You, venerable sir, are a very
special monk. You are quite familiar with humans,
devas, creatures of hell, and beings of all sorts.
That is why devas everywhere pay homage to you.”

When the deva had finished speaking, Ãcariya Mun
asked him for clarification: “Devas possess divine
sight and divine hearing, enabling them to see and
hear over great distances. They know about the good
and bad of human affairs better than do humans
themselves. Couldn’t you find a way to make humans
more aware of right and wrong? I feel that you are
more capable of it than we human teachers are. Is
there any way you could do this?”

The deva replied:

“We devas have seen many humans, but we have never
seen one as impeccable as you, sir. You have always
extended loving kindness to devas and humans alike
while acquainting them simultaneously with the great
variety of beings in existence, from the grossest to
the most refined. You have tried to teach them to
accept the fact that devas, and countless other
spheres of existence, really do exist in this world.
But still, generation after generation, from birth
to death, people have never actually seen these
beings. So what interest would they have in devas?
At most, they may catch a glimpse of something
strange, and, without considering the matter
carefully, claim they have seen a ghost.

How could they possibly hope to receive any advice
about matters of good and bad from us devas?
Although devas are constantly aware of them, humans
aren’t the least interested in knowing anything
about us.

By what means would you have us teach people? It’s
really a hopeless situation. We just have to let
kamma and its results take their course. Even the
devas themselves constantly receive the results of
their kamma.

Were we free from it, we would all attain Nibbãna.
Then we wouldn’t have to remain in this difficult
situation so long.”

“You say that one may attain Nibbãna when one’s
kamma is exhausted.

Do devas know about Nibbãna? Do they experience pain
and suffering like other beings?”

“Why shouldn’t we, venerable sir? All the Buddhas
who have come to teach the world have taught without
exception that we should transcend dukkha. They
never instructed us to remain mired in suffering.
But worldly beings are far more interested in their
favorite playthings than they are in Nibbãna.
Consequently, not one of them ever considBiography
ers attaining Nibbãna. All devas remember and are
very impressed by the concept of Nibbãna as it was
taught by each and every Buddha to living beings
everywhere. But devas still have a dense web of
kamma to work through before they can move clear of
their celestial existence and go the way of Nibbãna.
Only then will all problems cease and this
oppressive, repetitive cycle of birth, death and
rebirth finally come to a halt. But as long as some
kamma remains in an individual – be it good kamma or
bad kamma – regardless of his realm of existence,
dukkha will be present as well.”

“Are many monks able to communicate with devas?”

“There are a few but not many. Mostly, they are
monks who like to practice living in the forests and
mountains as you do”

“Are there any lay people with this ability?”

“There are some, but very few. They must be people
who desire the way of Dhamma and who have practiced
the way until their hearts are bright and clear.
Only then can they have knowledge of us. The bodily
form of celestial beings appears relatively gross to
those beings themselves, but is far too subtle for
the average human being to perceive.

So only people whose hearts are bright and clear can
perceive devas without difficulty.”

“In the scriptures it says that devas do not like to
be near humans because of their repugnant smell.
What is this repugnant odor? If there is such an
odor, why do you all come to visit me so often?”

“Human beings who have a high standard of morality
are not repugnant to us. Such people have a
fragrance which inspires us to venerate them; so we
never tire of coming to hear you discourse on Dhamma.

Those, exuding a repulsive odor, are people whose
morality stinks, for they have developed an aversion
to moral virtue even though it is considered to be
something exceptionally good throughout the three
worlds. Instead, they prefer things that are
repugnant to everyone with high moral standards. We
have no desire to approach such people. They are
really offensive and their stench spreads far and
wide. It’s not that devas dislike humans; but this
is what devas encounter and have always experienced
with humans.”

When Ãcariya Mun told stories about devas and other
kinds of spirits, the monks were mesmerized: They
forgot all about themselves, the passing time, and
their feelings of fatigue. They wished that,
someday, they also would come to know about such
things; and this hope made them happy to practice.
This was also the case when Ãcariya Mun thought it
necessary to speak of his past lives or the past
lives of others. His audience became eager to know
about their own past lives and forgot about
overcoming dukkha and attaining Nibbãna. Sometimes a
monk was startled to find his mind wandering in this
way and admonished himself: Hey, I’m starting to get
crazy. Instead of thinking about freedom from dukkha,
here I am chasing after shadows of a past that’s
long gone. In this way he regained his mindfulness
for a while, but as soon as it slipped again he
would revisit those same thoughts. For this reason,
many monks found it necessary to censure themselves
on a regular basis.

ÃCARIYA
MUN’S
STORIES
about the devas and other visiting spirits were
quite fascinating. In particular, he spoke about how
the ghost world has its share of hooligans just like
we do. Bad characters, who cause disturbances, are
rounded up and imprisoned in a place which we humans
would call a jail. Different types of offenders are
imprisoned in different cell blocks, and all the
cells are full. There are male hooligan ghosts and
female hooligan ghosts. And then there are the very
brutal types, again either male or female. Ãcariya
Mun said that it was clear from the cruelty in their
eyes that they would not respond to kindness and
compassion

Ghosts live in cities, just as we humans do. They
have huge cities with leaders who supervise and
govern them. Quite a few ghosts are inclined to be
virtuous and thus earn high respect from both the
ordinary ghosts and the hooligans. It’s natural for
all ghosts to stand in genuine awe of those among
them who tend to possess great power and authority.
This is not merely a matter of flattery. Ãcariya Mun
always claimed that the effects of evil are less
powerful than the effects of goodness; and what he
himself encountered in the ghost cities was further
evidence of this. There are beings with accumulated
merit who are nonetheless born into the ghost state
as a result of their kamma, but, their virtuous
characters never change, so they exercise great
authority. One such individual is even capable of
governing a large community. These ghost communities
do not segregate into groups or castes as humans do.
Instead, they adhere strictly to the authority of
Dhamma principles. The effects of their kamma make
it impossible for them to hold the kind of prejudice
that people do. The nature of their existence is
governed by the nature of their kamma – this is a
fixed principle. The way we use authority in this
world cannot, therefore, be applied in the world
hereafter. Ãcariya Mun explained this matter in
great detail but, I’m sorry to say, I can remember
only a little of it.

Ãcariya Mun’s visits to the ghosts were done
psychically through samãdhi meditation. As soon as
they saw him they hurried to tell everyone to come
and pay their respects to him, just as we humans
would do. The chief ghost, who was very respectful
of Ãcariya Mun and had great faith in him, guided
him on a tour past the many places where the ghosts
lived, including the ‘jail’ where the male and
female hooligans were kept. The chief ghost
explained to Ãcariya Mun the living conditions of
the different types of ghosts, pointing out that the
imprisoned ghosts were mean-hearted types who had
unduly disturbed the peace of the others. They were
sentenced and jailed according to the severity of
their offense. The word ‘ghost’ is a designation
given to them by humans; but actually they are just
one type of living being among others in the
universe who exist according to their own natural
conditions.

ÃCARIYA
MUN
INVARIABLY
liked to remain in and around mountains and forests
for long periods of time. After having been in
Nakhon Phanom for quite a while instructing the
monks, he began to necessarily consider his own
position. He often reflected on the nature of his
own practice.

He knew that he still lacked sufficient strength of
purpose to finish the ultimate task before him. It
became clear that as long as he continued to resist
this call and remain teaching his disciples, his own
personal striving would be delayed. He said that
ever since he had returned from the Central Plains
in order to instruct monks in the Northeast, he felt
that his citta had not advanced as fast as when he
was living alone. He felt that he had to accelerate
his efforts once more before he could achieve the
final goal and be free of all concerns about
himself. At that time, Ãcariya Mun’s mother had been
living with him for six years as an upãsikã.36
His concern for her made it inconvenient for him to
go anywhere. So, having secured her agreement, he
decided to escort her to Ubon Ratchathani. He then
left Nakhon Phanom with his mother and a large
following of monks and novices, cutting straight
across the Nong Sung mountains, through Kham Cha-ee,
and coming out at the district of Lerng Nok Tha in
the province of Ubon Ratchathani. That year he spent
the rains retreat at Ban Nong Khon in the Amnat
Charoen district of Ubon Ratchathani province. Many
monks and novices stayed there with him, and he
trained them vigorously. While he was there the
number of monks and lay devotees, who gained faith
and came to train under him, steadily increased.

LATE
ONE EVENING
Ãcariya Mun sat in meditation and as soon as his
citta dropped into calm a vision appeared of many
monks and novices walking respectfully behind him in
a nice, orderly fashion which inspired devotion.
Yet, there were other monks who hurried past,
walking ahead of him without respect or
self-control. Others looked for an opportunity to
pass him in a completely undisciplined manner. And
finally, there were some who held pieces of split
bamboo, using them to pinch his chest so that he
could hardly breath. When he saw these different
monks display such disrespect – even cruelly
tormenting him – he focused his citta carefully to
look into events of the future.

Immediately, he understood that those, who walked
respectfully behind him in a nice, orderly fashion
which inspired devotion, were the monks who would
conduct themselves properly, faithfully putting his
teaching into practice. These were the monks who
would revere him and uphold the sãsana, assuring
that it would flourish in the future. They would be
able to make themselves useful to the sãsana and to
people everywhere by maintaining the continuity of
traditional Buddhist customs and practices into the
future. Honored and respected by people on earth and
beings throughout the celestial realms, they would
uphold the integrity of the sãsana following the
tradition of the Noble Ones, so that it did not
decline and disappear.

Walking past him carelessly without respect were the
pretentious ones who thought they already knew it
all. They considered their own meditation to be even
superior to that of their teacher, disregarding the
fact that he had previously guided them all in its
proper practice. They were not the least bit
interested in showing gratitude for his tutelage in
matters of Dhamma because they already considered
themselves to be clever experts in everything. And
thus they behaved accordingly, which was ruinous not
only to themselves, but also to the entire sãsana,
including all the people who might come to them for
guidance. Their minds poisoned by the errors of such
monks, these people would in turn harm themselves
and others, including future generations, without
discovering whether they were on the right path or
not.

The next group consisted of those who waited for the
chance to pass him, signaling the start of a bad
attitude that would develop and have repercussions
for the future sãsana. Much like the previous group,
they held a variety of erroneous views, causing harm
to themselves and the religion as a whole. Together,
they were a menace to the sãsana, the spiritual
focus of all Buddhists. Because they failed to
rightly consider the consequences of their actions,
the sãsana was in danger of being utterly destroyed.

The monks who pinched Ãcariya Mun’s chest with
pieces of split bamboo considered themselves to be
astutely well-informed and acted accordingly.
Despite their wrongful actions, they did not take
right and wrong into consideration in thinking about
their behavior. On top of that, they were bound to
cause Buddhist circles and their teacher a great
deal of discomfort. Ãcariya Mun said that he knew
exactly who were among this last group of monks, and
that they would cause him trouble before long. He
was saddened that they would do such a thing since
they were his former disciples who had his consent
and blessing to spend the rains retreat nearby.
Rather than treating him with all the respect he
deserved, they planned to return and bother him.

A few days later, the provincial governor and a
group of government officials came to visit his
monastery. The delegation was accompanied by the
very same disciples who had led the assault on him
in his vision. Without revealing his vision to them,
he carefully observed their actions.

Together they requested his support in soliciting
money from the local people in order to build
several schools in the area. They explained that
this would help the government. They had all agreed
to approach Ãcariya Mun for assistance since he was
highly revered by the people.

They felt that the project would surely be a success
if he were involved.

As soon as he knew the reason for their visit,
Ãcariya Mun immediately understood that these two
monks were the principle instigators of this
troublesome business. It was represented in his
vision of the assault.

Later, he asked both monks to come to him and
instructed them in appropriate behavior for a
practicing Buddhist monk – someone who’s way of life
is rooted in self-restraint and tranquillity.

This story is recounted here to help the reader
understand the mysterious nature of the citta: how
it is quite capable of knowing things both apparent
and hidden, including knowledge of things past and
future, as well as of the present. Ãcariya Mun
exemplified this ability on numerous occasions. He
conducted himself with total detachment.

His thoughts never concealed any ulterior, worldly
motives. Whatever he said stemmed from his knowledge
and insights and was purposefully spoken to make
people think. His intention was never to fool
credulous people or to cause harm.

What is recorded here was told to his close inner
circle of disciples – not just anyone. Thus the
writer might be showing bad judgment in exposing
Ãcariya Mun’s affairs. But I think this account
offers those who are interested something useful to
dwell upon.

Among present-day kammaååhãna monks, Ãcariya Mun’s
experiences stand out for being uniquely broad in
scope and truly amazing – both in the sphere of his
meditation practice and the insights derived from
his psychic knowledge. Sometimes, when the
circumstances were appropriate, he spoke directly
and specifically about his intuitive knowledge. Yet
at other times, he referred only indirectly to what
he knew and used it for general teaching purposes.
Following his experience with the elderly monk,
whose thoughts he read during his stay at Sarika
Cave, he was extremely cautious about disclosing his
insights to others despite his earnest desire to
help his students see the errors in their thinking.

When he pointed out candidly that this monk was
thinking in the wrong way, or that that monk was
thinking in the right way, his listeners were
adversely affected by his frankness. They invariably
misunderstood his charitable intent instead of
benefiting from it as was his purpose.

Taking offense at his words could easily lead to
harmful consequences. Thus, most of the time Ãcariya
Mun admonished monks indirectly for he was concerned
that the culprits would feel embarrassed and
frightened in front of their fellows. Without
identifying anyone by name, he merely gave a warning
in order to foster self-awareness. Even so, the
culprit sometimes became terribly distressed,
finding himself rebuked amidst the assembled monks.
Ãcariya Mun was very well aware of this, as he was
of the most expedient method to use in any given
circumstance.

Some readers may feel uncomfortable with some of the
things that are written here. I apologize for this;
but I have accurately recorded everything that
Ãcariya Mun related himself. Many senior disciples,
who lived under his tutelage, have confirmed and
elaborated on these accounts, leaving us with a vast
array of stories.

Though this is unintended, the tendency to do it is
deeply ingrained in their personalities. Inevitably
these were the primary subjects of Ãcariya Mun’s
admonitions, whether given directly or indirectly.
Monks had other kinds of thoughts of course, but
unless they were particularly serious he wouldn’t
take much notice.

The evening meeting was the most important time by
far. Ãcariya Mun wanted the members of his audience
to be both physically and mentally calm. He didn’t
want anything to disturb them, or himself, while he
was speaking, ensuring that his disciples received
maximum benefit from listening. If someone allowed
wild, unwholesome thoughts to arise at that time, he
was usually struck by a bolt of lightning – right in
the middle of the thoughts that absorbed him, right
in the middle of the meeting. This made the monk,
who dared to think so recklessly, tremble and almost
faint on the spot. Although no name was mentioned,
Ãcariya Mun’s disclosure of the content of the
offensive thoughts was enough to send a shock
through the guilty one. Other monks were also
alarmed, fearing that in a moment of carelessness
they themselves might fall prey to similar thoughts.
When lightning struck continuously during the course
of a Dhamma talk, his audience succumbed to the
pressure and sat very attentively on guard. Some
monks actually entered into a meditative state of
complete tranquillity at that time. Those who did
not attain such a state were still able to stay calm
and cautious from fear that lightning might strike
again if their thoughts strayed – or perhaps he hawk
they feared was swooping down to snatch their heads!

For this reason, those monks residing with Ãcariya
Mun gradually developed a solid foundation for
centering their hearts. The longer they remained
with him, the more their inner and outer demeanors
harmonized with his. Those who committed to stay
with him for a long time submitted willingly to his
vigorous teaching methods. With patience, they came
to understand all the skillful means he used,
whether in the daily routine or during a discourse
on Dhamma. They observed him tirelessly, trying to
thoroughly follow his example as best they could.

Their tendency to desire Dhamma and be serious about
all aspects of daily practice increased their inner
fortitude little by little each day, until they
eventually stood on their own.

Those monks who never achieved positive results from
living with him usually paid more attention to
external matters than to internal ones. For
instance, they were afraid that Ãcariya Mun would
berate them whenever their thoughts foolishly
strayed. When he did rebuke them for this, they
became too scared to think of solving the problem
themselves, as would befit monks who were training
under Ãcariya Mun.

It made no sense at all to go to an excellent
teacher only to continue following the same old
tendencies. They went there, lived there, and
remained unchanged: they listened with the same
prefixed attitudes, and indulged in the same old
patterns of thought. Everything was done in an
habitual manner, laden with kilesas, so that there
was no room for Ãcariya Mun’s way to penetrate. When
they left him, they went as they had come; they
remained unchanged. You can be sure that there was
little change in their personal virtue to warrant
mentioning, and that the vices that engulfed them
continued to accumulate, unabated. Since they never
tired of this, they simply remained as so many
unfortunate people without effective means to oppose
this tendency and reverse their course. No matter
how long they lived with Ãcariya Mun, they were no
different than a ladle in a pot of delicious stew:
never knowing the taste of the stew, the ladle
merely moves repeatedly out of one pot and into
another.

Similarly, the kilesas that amass immeasurable evil,
pick us up and throw us into this pot of pain, that
pot of suffering. No doubt, I myself am one of those
who gets picked up and thrown into one pot and then
into another. I like to be diligent and apply
myself, but something keeps whispering at me to be
lazy. I like to follow Ãcariya Mun’s example; and I
like to listen and think in the way of Dhamma as he
has taught. But again, that something whispers at me
to go and live and think in my old habitual way. It
doesn’t want me to change in any way whatsoever.

In the end, we trust the kilesas until we fall fast
asleep and submit to doing everything in the old
habitual way. Thus, we remain just our old habitual
selves, without changes or improvements to inspire
self-esteem or admiration from others. Habitual
tendencies are an extremely important issue for
every one of us. Their roots are buried deep inside.
If we don’t really apply ourselves conscientiously,
observing and questioning everything, then these
roots are terribly difficult to pull out.

ÃCARIYA
MUN
DEPARTED
from Ban Nong Khon with his mother at the beginning
of the dry season. They stayed one or two nights at
each village until they arrived at his home village,
where Ãcariya Mun resided for a time. He instructed
his mother and the villagers until they all felt
reassured. Then he took leave of his family to go
wandering in the direction of the Central Plains
region.

He traveled leisurely, in the style of a dhutanga
monk: he was in no particular hurry. If he came upon
a village or a place with an adequate supply of
water, he hung up his umbrella-tent and peacefully
practiced, continuing his journey only when he
regained strength of body and mind. Back then,
everyone traveled by foot, since there were no cars.

Still, he said that he wasn’t pressed for time; that
his main purpose was the practice of meditation.
Wandering all day on foot was the same as walking
meditation for the same duration of time. Leaving
his disciples behind to walk alone to Bangkok was
like a lead elephant withdrawing from its herd to
search alone for food in the forest. He experienced
a sense of physical and mental relief, as though he
had removed a vexatious thorn from his chest that
had severely oppressed him for a long time. Light in
body and light in heart, he walked through broad,
sectioned paddy fields, absorbed in meditation.
There was very little shade, but he paid no
attention to the sun’s searing heat. The environment
truly seemed to make the long journey easier for
him. On his shoulders he carried his bowl and
umbrella-tent, the personal requisites of a dhutanga
monk. Although they appeared cumbersome, he didn’t
feel them to be burdensome in any way. In truth, he
felt as though he were floating on air, having
relieved himself of all concern about the monks he
left behind. His sense of detachment was complete.
His mother was no longer a concern for him, for he
had taught her to the best of his ability until she
developed a reliable, inner stability. From then on,
he was responsible for himself alone. He walked on
as he pondered over these thoughts, reminding
himself not to be heedless.

He walked meditation in this manner along paths free
of human traffic. By midday the sun was extremely
hot, so he would look for a pleasant, shady tree at
the edge of a forest to rest for awhile. He would
sit there peacefully, doing his meditation practice
under the shade of a tree. When late afternoon came
and the heat had relented somewhat, he moved on with
the composure of one who realized the dangers
inherent within all conditioned things, thus
cultivating a clear, comprehending mind. All he
needed were small villages with just enough houses
to support his daily almsround and, at intervals
along his journey, suitable places for him to
conveniently stay to practice that were far enough
from the villages. He resided in one of the more
suitable places for quite some time before moving
along.

Ãcariya Mun said that upon reaching Dong Phaya Yen
forest between the Saraburi and Nakhon Ratchasima
provinces, he discovered many forested mountain
ranges that brought special joy to his heart. He
felt inclined to extend his stay in the area in
order to strengthen his heart, for it had long been
thirsting to live again in the solitude of the
mountains and forests. Upon coming across a suitable
location, he would decide to remain awhile and
practice meditation until the time came to move on
again. Steadily he wandered through the area in this
way.

He would tell of the region’s forests and mountains
abounding in many different kinds of animals, and of
his delight in watching the barking deer, wild pigs,
sambor deer, flying lemurs, gibbons, tigers,
elephants, monkeys, languars, civets, jungle fowl,
pheasants, bear, porcupine, tree shrews, ground
squirrels, and the many other small species of
animals.

The animals showed little fear of him when he
crossed paths with them during the day when they
were out searching for food.

Those days, the forested terrain didn’t really
contain any villages. What few there were consisted
of isolated settlements of three or four houses
bunched together for livelihood. The inhabitants
hunted the many wild animals and planted rice and
other crops along the edge of the mountains where
Ãcariya Mun passed. Villagers there had great faith
in dhutanga monks, and so he could depend on them
for alms food. When he stayed among them, his
practice went very smoothly.

They never bothered him or wasted his time. They
kept to themselves and worked on their own so his
journey progressed trouble-free, both physically and
mentally, until he arrived safely in Bangkok.